Just a quick note to let those who read this blog know that I won't get a chance to post for at least a week. I have a book to send to press by Friday, so I won't get a chance at work, and my parents will be visiting all next week, expecting my undivided attention, so forget about posting from home.
True, many will not even notice this absence since I'm not good and updating this blog in a timely manner. But I have pledged to get better, and this is the first step. Now, instead of not posting and leaving you in the dark, I'm not posting but also TELLING you about it. If that's not progress, then nothing is.
Also, if I had a womb, I would have babies with all of you. You're just that sexy.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Nipples and Genitals
Genital mutilation isn't candy land, people, and lately I've been doing a lot of it. Digitally, that is. I make textbooks at work, and sometimes we have to "protect the innocence of the children." Translation: no naked Indians.
Seventeenth century woodcuts are easy to fake, being made up of scratches and lines. So off go the nipples, fuzz goes the peni, and kapow: genital free, non-offensive native people. If any American Indians are reading this, I'm really sorry for castrating your ancestors. It's the TEACHERS' fault. They're the ones that call up and complain that their students saw boobies. My hands are tied.
Still, I feel bad about it. I mean, who wants to be a eunuch? Speaking of eunuchs, is that even done anymore? Quick, someone pull up Google and find out.
Here's an interesting scenario: Let's say that the population of the Earth is nearly wiped out by some catastrophic event and thousands of years later people find ancient ruins which they use to try and understand our 21st century society. And say that these ruins just happen to be the remnants of the Playboy mansion and the only images these future-people have to judge us by is porn. When THAT stuff goes into the textbooks, will they neuter everyone? And how would that make you feel? (When I say "you" I'm referring to porn stars, which I assume frequent my blog regularly).
Which brings me to my next point: If the only reason you are reading this blog is because you looked up "nipples and genitals" on the internet, I say shame! There is much more to life than what's between your legs. Now hold still, let me snip that off for you.
Seventeenth century woodcuts are easy to fake, being made up of scratches and lines. So off go the nipples, fuzz goes the peni, and kapow: genital free, non-offensive native people. If any American Indians are reading this, I'm really sorry for castrating your ancestors. It's the TEACHERS' fault. They're the ones that call up and complain that their students saw boobies. My hands are tied.
Still, I feel bad about it. I mean, who wants to be a eunuch? Speaking of eunuchs, is that even done anymore? Quick, someone pull up Google and find out.
Here's an interesting scenario: Let's say that the population of the Earth is nearly wiped out by some catastrophic event and thousands of years later people find ancient ruins which they use to try and understand our 21st century society. And say that these ruins just happen to be the remnants of the Playboy mansion and the only images these future-people have to judge us by is porn. When THAT stuff goes into the textbooks, will they neuter everyone? And how would that make you feel? (When I say "you" I'm referring to porn stars, which I assume frequent my blog regularly).
Which brings me to my next point: If the only reason you are reading this blog is because you looked up "nipples and genitals" on the internet, I say shame! There is much more to life than what's between your legs. Now hold still, let me snip that off for you.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Why, Dex, Why?
It was a happy day when I found a brand new phonebook on my porch, shortly after moving into my new house. "Wow," I thought, "this really validates my existence." I had become a permanent resident, no longer a migratory student, shifting from residency to residency, with no time to appreciate the perks of phonebook ownership.
Shortly thereafter I found a new phonebook on my porch. This one was fatter, and from another company. "Sweet," I thought. "Two phonebooks are better than one."
When a third phonebook showed up, from yet another company, I began to get worried. Did someone find out about my phonebook fetish? Seriously, who really needs THREE phonebooks? It’s pure hedonism to own so much information.
Then came phonebook #4. "Look, even more friends!" I exclaimed, nervously picking it up and adding it to the growing stack.
When phonebook #5 arrived, I became disillusioned with the universe. "If there is a God, why are there so many phonebooks in the world?" I cried angrily, shaking my fist at heaven. And what had *I* done to deserve all these yellow pages when so many people in this life would literary KILL to have a phonebook of their very own.
Yesterday I received phonebook #6. I have become numb to it now. It's like nothing they can do can hurt me.
Now I'm stuck with six phonebooks and I think to myself, "Where do we go from here?" Phonebooks have very little worth as information finders, what with the internet and all. It's not that books in general are out, it's just that these particular kinds of books have outlived their usefulness. Can you cuddle up to a fire with a phonebook? Can you read one in a waiting room to pass the time? Can you take one to a rest home to entertain the elderly? Yes, you can do all of these things. But would you want to….
There's got to be some practical use for these phonebooks. If I were a hobo, I could burn them over a trash can for warmth. If I was skilled at origami, I could make hundreds of amazing creations. If was a bored sadist, think of all those yummy, self-inflicted paper cuts! And if I was filthy whore, I could, um, sleep with them, I suppose.
But no, I'm just an average guy with a mountain of useless information. I guess I could chuck their yellow asses in the garbage, but what if I die and find out that God was really a gigantic tree all along? I would have to account for genocide, and surely I would panic and blame society. Giant Tree God would see past my lies and banish me to some concrete hell. Honestly, I'd rather not take my chances.
Shortly thereafter I found a new phonebook on my porch. This one was fatter, and from another company. "Sweet," I thought. "Two phonebooks are better than one."
When a third phonebook showed up, from yet another company, I began to get worried. Did someone find out about my phonebook fetish? Seriously, who really needs THREE phonebooks? It’s pure hedonism to own so much information.
Then came phonebook #4. "Look, even more friends!" I exclaimed, nervously picking it up and adding it to the growing stack.
When phonebook #5 arrived, I became disillusioned with the universe. "If there is a God, why are there so many phonebooks in the world?" I cried angrily, shaking my fist at heaven. And what had *I* done to deserve all these yellow pages when so many people in this life would literary KILL to have a phonebook of their very own.
Yesterday I received phonebook #6. I have become numb to it now. It's like nothing they can do can hurt me.
Now I'm stuck with six phonebooks and I think to myself, "Where do we go from here?" Phonebooks have very little worth as information finders, what with the internet and all. It's not that books in general are out, it's just that these particular kinds of books have outlived their usefulness. Can you cuddle up to a fire with a phonebook? Can you read one in a waiting room to pass the time? Can you take one to a rest home to entertain the elderly? Yes, you can do all of these things. But would you want to….
There's got to be some practical use for these phonebooks. If I were a hobo, I could burn them over a trash can for warmth. If I was skilled at origami, I could make hundreds of amazing creations. If was a bored sadist, think of all those yummy, self-inflicted paper cuts! And if I was filthy whore, I could, um, sleep with them, I suppose.
But no, I'm just an average guy with a mountain of useless information. I guess I could chuck their yellow asses in the garbage, but what if I die and find out that God was really a gigantic tree all along? I would have to account for genocide, and surely I would panic and blame society. Giant Tree God would see past my lies and banish me to some concrete hell. Honestly, I'd rather not take my chances.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Duran Duran Duran
I saw Duran Duran Saturday in Salt Lake City. They said they like Utah because Mormons are "so f--ing nice." It must be true.
One of the songs featured a pretty sweet cartoon--projected on the screen behind them. The band were animated like retro Japanese Anime characters. They fought ninjas, godzilla, and flying saucers, using their instruments as weapons. I never realized decapitated ninjas could bleed like that!
I have to say Simon LeBon still sounds fantastic. After all these years, he sounds like he did back in the 80s. Not like when I saw Robert Smith of The Cure, who at times sounded like an old man, and other times like a diseased cow.
The concert was chill, with most the attendees getting on in years. No annoying 14-year-olds for a change. Definitely one of the best concerts I've been to in a while. Only thing that pissed me off: they didn't play "Electric Barbarella." Those bastards! I hate them so much!
.
.
.
Okay, I love them again.
One of the songs featured a pretty sweet cartoon--projected on the screen behind them. The band were animated like retro Japanese Anime characters. They fought ninjas, godzilla, and flying saucers, using their instruments as weapons. I never realized decapitated ninjas could bleed like that!
I have to say Simon LeBon still sounds fantastic. After all these years, he sounds like he did back in the 80s. Not like when I saw Robert Smith of The Cure, who at times sounded like an old man, and other times like a diseased cow.
The concert was chill, with most the attendees getting on in years. No annoying 14-year-olds for a change. Definitely one of the best concerts I've been to in a while. Only thing that pissed me off: they didn't play "Electric Barbarella." Those bastards! I hate them so much!
.
.
.
Okay, I love them again.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Glorious Freakin' Day
It's a glorious freakin' day. The kind that makes you want to take longs walks out in the sunshine. And then to go out and buy a dog and take him for long walks in the sunshine. And then plan mentally to neglect said dog when it gets cold again. I think people should be able to rent dogs.
That is all.
That is all.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Update Schmupdate
If I'm not updating my blog, it's usually because I have nothing particular riveting to say. Sometimes it's because I'm too busy or too lazy, but it's usually because of the first reason. Some of you (mostly just Grace) assume automatically that when I don't post it's because I have died, but that's only the reason some of the times.
I think maybe I should start fictionalizing my life so I have things to post about. For example, what if I told you that I pushed an old lady off a bridge, just to see what it felt like? Then we could have a heated debate about the morality of such an action. Does mere curiosity justify the manslaughter of some worthless old hag? Discuss.
I use this example because I actually knew a guy who did this. Well, I didn't actually KNOW him, but I knew OF him, which is just as good. A friend of mine was present when he confessed the deed in front of a shocked congregation at church. How boring does your life have to be for you to get to the murder-the-eldery-for-kicks stage? I fear I may be reaching this precipice soon. Life has become much too routine for my taste.
Something must be done. Should I sent out for a mail-order bride? Join a nudist colony? Make friends with a dangerous cult? Do my laundery on Wednesday instead of Thursday? These are all good suggestions. Feel free to contribute.
I think maybe I should start fictionalizing my life so I have things to post about. For example, what if I told you that I pushed an old lady off a bridge, just to see what it felt like? Then we could have a heated debate about the morality of such an action. Does mere curiosity justify the manslaughter of some worthless old hag? Discuss.
I use this example because I actually knew a guy who did this. Well, I didn't actually KNOW him, but I knew OF him, which is just as good. A friend of mine was present when he confessed the deed in front of a shocked congregation at church. How boring does your life have to be for you to get to the murder-the-eldery-for-kicks stage? I fear I may be reaching this precipice soon. Life has become much too routine for my taste.
Something must be done. Should I sent out for a mail-order bride? Join a nudist colony? Make friends with a dangerous cult? Do my laundery on Wednesday instead of Thursday? These are all good suggestions. Feel free to contribute.
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